


I’ve missed you (it’s a secret)

by Callmepapi



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Beating, Broken Bones, Bruises, Caring Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Concussions, F/M, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Saves the Day, Head Injury, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Implied poly at the end, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Very bad concussion for Jaskier, Vomiting, Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg Whump, cellmates, like he can’t speak, yennefer is mad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:29:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28883202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callmepapi/pseuds/Callmepapi
Summary: “Yen,” Geralt growled, “you know I care about him too.”“Then why did you leave him?!” She shouted.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 16
Kudos: 214





	I’ve missed you (it’s a secret)

**Author's Note:**

> Found this in my notes, it only needed a few sentences to finish it, so I did, lol 
> 
> Hopefully this is me getting back into my writing again, I enjoy it and it makes me happy and I hope this makes you happy too :)
> 
> Comments and kudos appreciated very much xxx

The great Yennefer of vengerberg had been caught off guard, just the thought of it made her scowl.

They dumped her in a cell, cobblestone walls cold and damp and the stench of blood and piss in the air. It wasn’t the worst circumstances that she’d been in, she’d find a way out eventually, though it would be easier if she could access her chaos.

Sodden had left her drained, she could barely open a portal without collapsing on the other side of it. She knew it would come back to her eventually, she just had to be patient. Something she was never very good at.

She shared the cell with another person. They were bloody and beaten, Yennefer couldn’t even make out their face, if they even still had one. The only noise they made were the ragged breaths that slowly came from their chest. This person would die here, Yennefer was sure of that.

“Can’t you speak?” She had asked when she’d first seen them. No reply came and Yennefer huffed before sliding down and sitting on the floor opposite them.

They coughed through the night. Blood and phlegm being hacked up onto the floor before they went back to their restless sleep. Yennefer would have lessened the pain had she any spare chaos to give, but she couldn’t. She could only watch and hear as they struggled to stay alive. They were a fighter, she’d give them that.

In the morning, two burly guards had come to take the person away. It was only from the pleas for mercy that she’d finally recognised just who it was she had been bunking with. The familiar voice of Jaskier the bard, Geralt’s favorite tag-along troubadour.

What the hell had happened to him? And where the hell was Geralt? The witcher she knew wouldn’t have let this happen to him. Though, Geralt could be considerably cruel sometimes. Maybe he knew this was where his bard was and yet he refused to save him. Maybe Geralt has truly lost it all.

Yennefer paced in her cell, watching, through the small crack in the cobblestone wall, as the sun raised high in the sky then slowly fell down. They brought Jaskier back when the sky outside was pink and orange.

They shoved him onto the floor, his hands were bound and the skin was rubbed red around them. His face was still bloody and bruised. There was a bandage loosely wrapped around his chest that was soaked in watery blood, though the wound beneath was somehow healed.

Yennefer helped him to lean against the wall. Jaskier moaned as she sat him upright and his head hung limp against his chest. She brought two fingers under his chin and tilted it up to look at her, his eyes half-lidded with purple shadows surrounding them.

“Bard? Can you understand me?” She asked, her voice cold and clinical. She wasn’t going to be nice, she was going to get them out. She just had to make sure that Jaskier was still alive in the first place.

He mumbled, his head rolled back to thump against the wall and he gave a half-hearted ‘ow’.

“Yen?” He swallowed, his throat oh-so dry, “what you doin’ here?”

Yennefer huffed. She lifted his eyelids to check for signs of a concussion but found none. He was just tired, he needed to rest without being woken up halfway through, but their captors weren’t trying to be nice and willing to keep them comfy. It was all part of the torture.

“What are they asking you? When they take you away?” She asked, curiosity getting the best of her even when she knew he needed to sleep.

“They- they want to know where Geralt is… and the princess Cirilla. I don’t  _ know _ where he is, but they don’t believe me. They just keep hitting me or- or beating me with a bat.” Yennefer hummed and nodded. She rested her hand against his cheek.

“Rest, Jaskier. Your body needs to heal.” And he does. His mouth opens in a retort but it quickly dies on his tongue as the exhaustion overwhelms him and his eyes slip shut.

Yennefer wakes first to keys rattling against their metal door. It clangs open and a burly guard with a tray carrying two bowls of tasteless porridge enters the room. He kicks Jaskier awake and sets the tray on the floor between them, porridge spilling over the sides and landing on the floor with a wet slap.

“Wake up,” he says, “sooner you tell us somethin’ the sooner I can get paid.” Jaskier’s head lolls and Yennefer sighs as she picks up a bowl of porridge.

But then jaskier’s up and charging at the guard. He’s caught Yennefer completely by surprise, the guard too. But jaskier’s weak and tired and the guard is strong and healthy. He easily overpowers Jaskier and pushes him into the wall where Jaskier hits his head with a loud thump. He cries out and drops to the floor, though still clearly conscious. He brings his arms up to cradle his head, Yennefer thinks he hit it harder than she originally thought.

“Fucking bugger!” He shouts. Then he grips a fist full of jaskier’s hair and slams his head against the wall, once, twice, three times and going. Jaskier’s cries get louder every time.

“Maybe if we bash that head open, all your secrets will spill out?” Jaskier screams as the guard knocks his head against the wall again and again and again until his cries fall silent and Yennefer can clearly see the dark red stain of blood dripping down the cobblestone.

The guard spits in Jaskier’s face and stands up, leaving them alone as he locks the door shut. Yennefer doesn’t waste a second to rush over to him. Then gently tugs him forward so that she can get a look at the back of his head.

It’s dented. There’s a dent in his skull. Fuck. There’s blood everywhere. Fuck!

Yennefer never mastered healing. She doesn’t know what to do in this sort of situation.

She needs to calm down. What if this was a child.  _ Her _ child. She would have to do something then. That’s it, she’ll treat him as if he were her own child. She’d never let her own child die.

He’s unconscious for now, obviously. She tears off the useless bandage that was previously wrapped around his chest and binds it over his head wound instead. Then she leans back against the wall and gently moves him so that his head is in her lap. There’s not much else she can do, she doesn’t have any resources to help him any further, so just has to wait and hope for the best.

He will survive this. He has to.

He’s different. Yennefer knows the effects of a serious head wound, she’d seen it happen when she was younger, living in Vengerberg. There was a boy, around her age at the time. He slipped on the lake nearby when the village was iced over, banged his head hard against the ice. The healer had said he wouldn't be the same; he never talked, he would faint and start shaking. She doesn’t know what happened to him, whether he died or not.

Jaskier can’t control his limbs, he’s lost his sense of coordination and balance. She has to wipe the blood from his nose when he comes back from another session of mages digging around in his already damaged head. His speech is impaired, too. He can make small words - like a child, Yennefer thinks - but he can’t put sentences together. He can’t sing or rhyme.

She feels sorry for him, not in a way that puts him below her, but in the fact that he can’t do what he was practically made to do anymore. He won’t even be able to play his lute.

In the first week after hitting his head, Jaskier couldn’t eat or drink anything without it coming back up. He was starving, Yennefer could hear his stomach growling from the other side of the room, could hear him whimpering and curling into a ball as much as he could with what little control he had.

Eventually he managed to keep down his food. When the guards brought their porridge, Yennefer watched as he whistled and two other guards joined, just watching them. Yennefer wasn’t sure as to why, until she looked over at Jaskier.

He was dragging himself towards the bowl, he couldn’t walk, couldn’t crawl, how else would he get it? He couldn’t control his hands, they dropped into the porridge and it splashed back onto his face. The guards made fake boking sounds and laughed at him until Jaskier screamed and managed to throw the bowl at them.

He knew he’d fucked up, Yennefer saw it in the way his whole expression dropped into that of fear. He’d backed himself up to the wall as much as he could but the guards opened the door and dashed over to him, kicking him in his stomach, chest, legs, arms. They didn’t hit his head, probably due to strict orders from whoever was in charge, Yennefer thought. They wanted him alive.

She helped clean him up as best as she could once the guards were done. There were bruises all over him and he was sobbing, his face a mixture of tears and snot. But she never felt disgusted, she felt sad and she felt an overwhelming urge to take care of him, to protect him.

She fed him herself after that, cleaned him up made sure he was as comfortable as he could be, because he sure as hell couldn’t do it himself.

“Mmn, blerg.” Yennefer sighed, but fed him the spoonful of bland porridge anyway.

“I know,” she said, “once we’re out of here I’ll treat you to a banquet of roast duck, spiced pork, cheese fondue, chocolate soufflé-” Jaskier smiled and slapped his hand against her arm, a signal for her to stop joking about, but with no anger behind it.

“Mm, yeah, you’re probably right. No use torturing ourselves by dreaming about it.” She gave him the last spoonful, which he swallowed with a wince, then set the bowl to the side. 

She lay against the wall beside him, jaskier’s hair tickling her neck as he rested his head against her shoulder. He’d been doing that a lot more recently. They’d bonded over this time, of course they would. It was inevitable. Being trapped in a cell together, they only had each other for comfort. Jaskier practically relied on her as well, even when it came to relieving himself into the bucket in the corner, as humiliating as it was.

Yennefer never seemed to mind, though. She helped him with a clinical yet motherly care. He appreciated it, truly. If only he could tell her so. She didn’t seem to mind about any of this, at least she made it seem that way. She hadn’t cried once, nor had she had a breakdown either, both things Jaskier  _ had _ had; yen always soothed him into a soft sleep when his whole body was hiccuping with sobs.

The guards continued to take them both, Yennefer more often than Jaskier. He was broken after all, they had no use for him other than being a bargaining tool.

More often than not, if they did take him, he came back with blood running from his nose and his ears. His eyes would be blank and gazing into the distance, his lips would be parted and a small string of drool dripping from them. The mages searched in his head for ages, but the concussion had jumbled his memories and they couldn’t find anything worthwhile.

Yennefer was never so unfortunate as him. She had been trained, at Aretuza, how to keep her mind blank, devoid of memories for the mages to look through. She got slapped around, her ribs got kicked and she was sure her pinky was broken on her left hand.

It could have been months they were trapped in there. Could have been a year, Yennefer wasn’t sure. The days all blended together, the same old routine playing out; wake up - get food - feed Jaskier - Jaskier gets taken away - wait for Jaskier - Yennefer gets taken away - come back and make sure Jaskier’s okay - get dinner - feed Jaskier dinner - make sure Jaskier’s asleep first.

But then there was today.

She woke up, not from the guard banging against the door, but from the sounds of swords and armour clashing together. Fighting. And someone was obviously winning. 

Familiar grunts could be heard and Yennefer cursed to herself. She moved jaskier’s sleeping head to lay on the floor instead of her lap and stood up, making her way towards the small window in the door.

Geralt. Of course it was bloody Geralt! Her knight in shining armour, making her feel like a princess in need of saving. Well, she wasn’t going to be that person. She wasn’t going to look so helpless in front of him.

She moved to Jaskier, gently tapping his cheek, “wake up,” she whispered, “wake up, Jaskier, we can go now.” He blinked awake, and, for a moment, stared at her blankly. Then his eyes furrowed and he reached up to her. She took his hand and pulled him up to standing, him mostly leaning all his weight on her.

Their door clanged and Geralt’s gruff voice rang out from behind it, “yen?” He said.

“We’re in here, Geralt, open the fucking door!” She shouted back. Jaskier whined beside her at the noise, his head hanging limp and his arm wrapped around his shoulders as Yennefer held him up.

“We?” Geralt said, quietly. Then, “stand back, I’m blasting Aard.” She did as told and hauled Jaskier to the corner of the room. The door flew off its hinges in a loud explosion that made Jaskier jump in her arms and yelp.

“Yen, wh- the fuck is he doing here?” Geralt asked, eyebrows drawn together and expression furious, fuelled by the battle he had just had with the guardsman. Jaskier lifted his head up to glance at Geralt, grinned, said, “gawah,” then let it drop back to look at the floor.

Yennefer was outraged.  _ He _ has brain damage because he was trying to protect you, she thought.  _ He _ hasn’t done a thing wrong in his life to deserve to even be here.  _ He  _ has been reliant on  _ me _ for the past… year? Gods know how long it’s been.

“ _ He _ ,” she said, her tone furious, “needs to get to a healer, fast.” Geralt looked at her, then at the bard’s limp form. He was awake, Yennefer knew that, he just had a lot of dizzy spells, nausea, headaches, it was better for him to close his eyes and let everything float past.

“What's wrong with him?” Geralt asked.

“You mean other than the fact that we’ve both been tortured here,” she said as she limped past him, walking through the cell door and making their way through wherever the fuck they were, Jaskier leaning heavily against her, barely mumbling in an attempt to speak.

“Yen, what happened?” Geralt asked her, closely following behind with his steel sword still drawn.

“Hit his head, just a bit too hard,” she told him, “left a dent in his skull. I don’t know if it’s permanent, which is why we need to get to a healer, now.” They made their way through the hallways of what seemed to be an old fort that Nilfguard had taken over. The way had been cleared for them thanks to Geralt.

“How did you know where we were?” She asked once they were outside, the fresh breeze was blissful and she heard Jaskier let out a sigh when it hit him. It was night, the moon was glowing at its highest point in the sky.

“Tissaia. She came to me for help, asked me to find you. She said she had a bad feeling.” Yennefer scoffed at him. She set Jaskier down on the ground to sit and he obediently did so without question.

“So, you’re telling me that your bard, who was already here when I got here, beaten to a pulp, didn’t even cross your mind. You only came to find us when my  _ mentor _ asked you to?” She said, crossing her arms over her chest and glaring at Geralt.

“He left me-”

“Well, that’s bullshit!”she shouts, “you left him! Nilfguard is looking for you and he’s guilty by association, everyone knows that!” Geralt didn’t speak, didn’t talk, just let her say her peace. Eventually, Jaskier gripped weakly at her ankle, shaking her out of her rant.

“Mmn, nngh- yeh,” he said, his head tilted up to look at her, faltering as if it was too heavy for his neck to hold.

“Sorry, Jaskier,” she said, reluctant, of course. Were it not for the bard’s interference, she would have continued her rant definitely.

“Yen, how- can’t you heal him?” Geralt asked. Yen shook her head in reply.

“No, I’m weak from sodden.” 

“Sodden?”

“Yes, you know? The battle at sodden? Oh, sod it, move out of the way I need to get to a healer. At least one of us cares about jaskier’s wellbeing.” She helped Jaskier up, wrapping his arm across her shoulder as she pushed past Geralt and walked down the gravel path.

“Yen,” Geralt growled, “you know I care about him too.”

“Then why did you leave him?!” She shouted, tears welled up in her eyes. She was angry, sad, angry because she was sad, and there was no one else to blame it on but Geralt. She willed them away, of course. She didn’t want Geralt to see her cry - he’d go all soft and mushy, like a rotten apple.

Geralt walked towards her, cupping her face with his palm, rough skin rubbing against her smooth, unblemished face. She subconsciously leant into the touch, missing small comforts like this, though she knew, if he could, Jaskier would have done this plenty of times. Instead she had his constant touch in the form of him holding her unbroken pinky, or when he stared at her and smiled, with a certain fond smile that only Geralt ever gave her before; and Istredd had given it to her too, though, he eventually stopped.

“I shouted at him, I know. This- all this -it’s my fault. I can’t reverse time, but I can help set the future right. Let me help you, the both of you.” Yennefer eyed him up and down before sighing and looking down at her feet, at jaskier’s worn leather boots. She glanced back up at Geralt's eyes, considering him.

“He’s heavier than he looks,” she said, passing Jaskier over to him, the bard mumbling incoherently as Geralt scooped him up into his arms.

“I’ll take care of him yen,” he paused, “I’ll take care of both of you.”


End file.
